


Brush Pass

by sophiegaladheon



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine, Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Espionage, Gen, another star wars/ds9 crossover, because why not, the Bajoran occupation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-15
Updated: 2017-05-15
Packaged: 2018-11-01 04:08:39
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,213
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10914024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophiegaladheon/pseuds/sophiegaladheon
Summary: In the midst of the Clone Wars, rumors of yet another Separatist plot send Obi-Wan Kenobi to an Outer Rim planet in search of confirmation.  The planet?  Bajor.





	Brush Pass

**Author's Note:**

> Will I ever get tired of this crossover? No! At least not anytime soon.  
> To be clear, this story is not related to my other Star Wars/DS9 crossover fic, it is in its own crossover universe.

It was still at least two hours to curfew and the small tavern hummed quietly with the carefully guarded murmurs of Dahka’s free laborers and low level administrators, out for a meal and a glass of something highly alcoholic and likely produced in a tub in someone’s back storeroom. The lighting was dim, as rationing and power cuts meant municipal power was regularly unavailable for all except for military and government buildings, and overtaxed lanterns on each of the tables straining desperately to illuminate the room. The overall atmosphere was one of exhaustion and paranoia. Which, given the strain of thirty years of foreign occupation and exploitation, was not at all unexpected.

Tucked away in a dimly lit corner booth—the already dim lantern intentionally turned down even further—Obi-Wan Kenobi found the atmosphere, in fact, most fitting, given what he was on Bajor to do. Undercover missions were never his favorite way to spend his time and this one was no exception, involving, as it did, spending hours sitting in a grimy little tavern serving limited unpalatable food in a small provincial capital on a backwater Outer Rim colony world in the middle of its own domestic conflict. Neither the planet nor its colonial oppressor—Cardassia—were even part of any of the major planetary alliances. Yet.

_Yet._ That was the key. _Yet._ If the rumors Republic intelligence had picked up were reliable, this trip would certainly be worth his time. And Bajor and the Cardassian sector as a whole would gain a degree more prominence in the Galactic standings. Unfortunate for all. 

Obi-Wan reached up to scratch lightly at the edge of the surgical modification across the bridge of his nose. It had been a rush job, done in the medical bay of the _Negotiator_ on the way out to meet his contact to smuggle him on-world. With the limited time he had to get out to Bajor to meet his resistance contact it wasn’t certain he had a solid cover, but between the ridges on his nose, the clothes in keeping with the local style, the absence of a beard, and the addition of an earing of the type the locals wore, he fit in passingly well. Certainly, no one would mistake him for High General Obi-Wan Kenobi of the GAR.

Given the rush to get here, of course, his contact had yet to show. Five days of waiting, of keeping his head down during the day to slip the work-impressment gangs and avoiding suspicious questions from the Bajorans and Cardassians alike, five long evenings sitting in this tavern, in this very specific corner booth, sipping noxious homebrew, waiting for a contact who did not come. Frankly, it was getting rather annoying. Of course, the alternative was that they weren't coming at all. Which would only mean more trouble. 

At that thought, the door to the tavern opened and a young woman, probably no more that fifteen or sixteen, stepped inside. Grimy, tired looking, and dressed in the sensible layers and muted colors characteristic of the Bajorans, nothing about her stood out. But the force prodded Obi-Wan to take note, so he kept his eyes on her as she scanned the room.

Her gaze alighted on the dark corner booth and she approached, winding her way between the tables and chairs in the middle of the tavern. She slid into the booth across from Obi-Wan.

“May the light of the Prophets guide your way,” she said, eyes intent on Obi-Wan’s face.

“And may the hands of the Prophets hold the answers you seek,” he replied, providing the second half of the code phrase. The woman nodded, acknowledging the signal and relaxed a fraction.

“I’m glad you’re here,” Obi-Wan said, “I’ve been waiting.”

The woman shrugged slightly, her eyes darting around the room before settling back onto Obi-Wan’s face. “It’s not always easy to move around, especially in the city. And you wanted information. Very important, highly classified information. It wasn’t exactly easy to get it from the Cardassians, especially without them noticing.”

“But you did it?”

She nodded. “You’ll have your proof.”

He raised his eyebrows expectantly.

“Not here. I’m here to take you to it.”

A small frown tugged at the corners of Obi-Wan’s mouth and he folded his arms across his chest as he considered this. Then, with a sigh, he nodded. “Very well. Shall we go?”

“In a few more minutes. If I leave too soon we may draw unwanted suspicion.” With that Kira Nerys settled back further into the booth, tucking herself further into the shadowed corner to hide her face and observe her tablemate and the other patrons of the tavern. Fortunately, they appeared unremarked upon by the rest of the establishment—chosen for the rendezvous as neither it nor its patrons were known to hold strong resistance sentiments nor have known ties to the Cardassians—and they could afford to take their time. 

Kira rolled her shoulders lightly, attempting to loosen muscles stiff from hours hunched over datapads in cramped hideaways, pouring over stolen data, helping Mobara crack encryption codes. Not that that was really her area, but with the amount of data they had to process at this point it was all hands on deck. 

She looked over at the man across from her. Someone had made him up to look Bajoran, but she was certain he was not. He looked young though, and Kira almost couldn’t believe that this was who the Republic had sent, was almost insulted on her people’s behalf. Except of course, when she looked into his eyes she saw the old, tired eyes of a battle-hardened, war-weary veteran. Those eyes Kira could understand, they were something she could respect. She saw them every day in the faces of her friends and colleagues in the resistance.

Except there was one major difference. This was a representative from the Republic come all the way out to Bajor. She almost couldn’t believe it, had been skeptical when Shakaar had announced he had made contact with agents of the Republic, hadn’t entirely believed anyone would truly come. _Why should they believe us? Why would they even bother?_

Then, just a few hours ago, Shakaar had told her he needed her to be the one to make contact with the Republic’s agent and she had almost laughed in his face at the absurdity of the situation. That she would be the one to run this part of the mission—surely the Prophets were laughing at her.

Of course, she knew it would never have happened, knew they would never have bothered if the underground hadn’t gotten wind of a Cardassian plan the Republic considered against its own general interest.

The thought almost made Kira roll her eyes. _They wouldn’t be here except suddenly we’re relevant. They don’t care about us, they just care about what we know and how it can affect their own war._ The thought sat ill in Kira’s stomach like a lump, and she turned her eyes and attention back to the interior of the tavern.

The spike of anger and resentment which came from the woman across from him made Obi-Wan start. He focused his attention on her face, but her expression was inscrutable, now turned to observe the other diners. Her emotions too had settled as she turned to face the tavern, so clearly she was not alarmed by any threats from that direction. He took another sip of his drink, continued consumption having made it increasingly palatable. Whatever had caused the spike in negative emotions had subsided, and he would not pry into his companion's mind to search for the source. Still, curious. And something he would have to be mindful of, lest it posed a threat to him.

A few more minutes passed with no indication that they had drawn any unusual attention from any of their fellow patrons, nor any interruption from Cardassian security forces. Kira slid out of the booth and, with one final sip of his drink, Obi-Wan followed. Quickly, but not so fast as to appear suspicious, they crossed to the back door of the tavern and slipped out into the cool night air. 

Obi-Wan followed close behind as the woman slipped silently through the twisting, narrow alleyways ahead of him, the lack of streetlamps or other lighting reducing the visibility to almost nothing. Even with the usual surefootedness ensured by his Jedi senses, the limited visibility, rough cobbles, and scattered detritus of a city with no municipal sanitation department proved hazardous and he tempered his pace. The same could not be said for the woman. Within a few minutes, she was already a half a block ahead of him. 

Kira paused, checking around the next corner to ensure the way was clear, before looking back to see her guest. As he caught up she gestured over to the right and led him over to a dingy and nondescript doorway, one of the dozens they had passed and keyed in the lock code. Once inside the building, and with the door securely fastened behind them, Kira led the way down an equally dingy and nondescript hallway before stopping at one of the interior doors.

She knocked. After a few moments, accompanied by the muffled sounds of thumping and scraping on the other side, Obi-Wan observed his guide engage in a further exchange of pass phrases with someone inside through the intercom. The door then slid open to reveal a thin, nervous, tired-looking man in dark, nondescript trousers, shirt, and one of the planets seemingly ubiquitous vests. He hurried them inside.

“And you are?” Obi-Wan asked the man.

“Call me Orim,” said the man. 

Obi-Wan suppressed the urge to arch an eyebrow. A blatant lie, a common, anonymous surname turned to an alias. A common enough practice in these sorts of circles. His own alias operated on the same principal.

“And you?” the man, Orim, asked.

“You can call me Nedu,” said Obi-Wan evenly, providing the name of the alias Republic intelligence had set up for him before turning to his guide. “And you? We were never properly introduced, after all.”

“Lotre,” came the terse reply. Oh, good. They were all playing the same game, then.

“Well,” said Obi-Wan with a smile, “Now that we’re all friends, shall we get down to business?”

Wordlessly Orim moved over to a small bank of computers at the far wall. Obi-Wan didn’t recognize the model, likely of local design and make, but the technology looked to be at least fifty years out of date. It fit in with much of the other technology he had seen in his time in Dahka—old, salvaged, jurry-rigged, assembled from scrap. 

The outmoded equipment didn’t exactly inspire confidence in the capabilities of his hosts, but Obi-Wan knew that resistance groups usually had to make due with whatever they had on hand, especially out here, on the edge of the outer rim, in a war and occupation few outside sponsors would be willing to care about. Besides, restrictions often bred ingenuity, so likely they knew what they were doing. Or so he hoped. 

Kira leaned against the bank of computer consoles, eyeing their guest as Mobara keyed up the relevant data. The information the resistance had managed to get ahold of was some of the most highly classified and dangerous they had ever stolen, and she knew it was critical to the Republic’s interests to acquire it. Even so, the man had remained calm and impassive on the trip to the safehouse, not revealing any of the urgency or nerves she would expect him to be feeling. A true professional then. And a veteran.

“This is it,” said Mobara, moving to the side to allow the other man space to see the data display.

“Does it prove what your message reported to the Republic?” he asked, stroking his chin as he leaned over to look closer.

“It should,” said Kira, “We have records of Cardassian contact with the Separatist leadership, including indications of preliminary negotiations to establish trade deals and political ties.”

“And the source is reliable?”

“The messages come straight from the Cardassian military communications array,” said Kira, “We, ah, have a way to eavesdrop on their conversations.” 

Obi-Wan took in a deep breath and nodded. Ever since the initial message had come through to the GAR intelligence network, the threat of a Cardassian-Separatist Alliance had been the fear du jour of the higher ups of the GAR and Senate intelligence. 

Of course, on one level it was hardly anything new. The Cardassian Union was a small time power, including only a few systems other than its primary, and was politically isolated. The news of yet another of the smaller factions joining up with the Separatists was hardly news anymore, after the events of the last couple of years.

But the news was always disheartening, especially with a government as militaristic and repressive as the Cardassians joining the Separatists, to know that the scale and scope of the war would expand even further. It was the policy of the Senate, and of the military, that any system thinking of allying itself with the Separatists was to be treated as hostile and a threat. 

And, with the Cardassians existing system of resource-rich colonies, including Bajor, and their heavily developed military, Obi-Wan knew that, while Republic policy would prevent the opening up of a new front, the deal would mean more raw materials to feed into the Separatist war machine, which could only draw the war out even longer.

Still, he conceded, the resistance had done good work, even if they had been the bearers of bad news. “Thank you for the data,” he said, “You have the Republic’s gratitude.” 

“We don’t want the Republic’s gratitude,” said Lotre, crossing her arms defensively across her chest as Orim downloaded the data onto more portable data cards. “We want the Republic to help us kick the Cardassians off of Bajor.” 

Obi-Wan had nothing to say to that. The Republic, he knew, would not be coming to Bajor any time soon. Neither the Senate nor the High Council would be able to justify an entire knew campaign for the sake of a non-Republic colony world, especially with the threat of a Separatist expansion. Perhaps the resistance would get some supplies or military advisors in the style of the operation in Onderon, but that would be all. The Republic was stretched thin as it was.

As their guest failed to respond to her statement Kira frowned slightly. She’d never had much hope the Republic would come to Bajor’s aid—was in fact worried about what would happen if they did, if Cardassian oppression would simply be replaced with that of the Republic—but now, with the way the Republic representative was acting she felt in her gut that no outside help would be forthcoming. The resistance and all Bajorans would be on their own. As they always were. And when the Cardassians discovered the resistance’s act of theft it would be the Bajorans who payed the price. As they always did.

Mobara broke the silence as he finished up the data transfer and turned from the computer to face Nedu. 

“Here you go,” he said, handing over a pair of data cards. “All of the evidence we’ve collected. Hopefully, it’s enough to convince your Senate of the truth of the matter, and of the danger.”

“Hopefully indeed,” said Nedu, taking the data cards and tucking them away in an inside pocket. 

With the hand off completed Kira was about to suggest they leave and get Nedu back to his ship when a knock came at the door. Mobara stood, maneuvering Kira and their guest into a corner of the room unseen from the doorway before hurrying over to it.

After a flurry of hushed conversation Obi-Wan couldn’t quite make out between Orim and the person on the other side of the door, it slid open and a young man was hustled inside. Obi-wan stepped to the side as Lotre brushed passed him to walk over to the other resistance members.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

The newcomer ran a hand through his hair. He looked to Obi-Wan as though he couldn’t be more than fourteen or fifteen. “We picked up a transmission from the city military garrison,” he said, “They reported picking up a pilot at the municipal spaceport on charges of espionage and sedition. No other personal details, but, uh,” he looked over at Obi-Wan, “I don’t suppose your ship was berthed anywhere near bay B-19?” 

“I’m docked in B-21,” he said.

“Dammit, that’s too close,” said Lotre, “They’re going to have the entire area under surveillance. There’s no way you’d be able to get out from there now.” 

Kira frowned. Damn the Cardassians. It was probably no more than a routine sweep but the timing couldn’t be worse. Just when the resistance had crucial information, and a crucial courrier, they needed to get off of the planet the occupation forces had to go and pick up someone completely unrelated right next door. Still, they hadn’t managed to keep themselves alive and a thorn in the Cardassians’ sides for decades by giving up at the first setback. She turned to look at Mobara.

“What do we have for hyper-capable ships in storage?” she asked.

Mobara turned from a hurried conversation about the best ways to sneak into the municipal spaceport without the Cardassians noticing he was having with Ornak and considered for a moment.

“Ah, I think we have one over in the industrial spaceport he could use. No one’s been over there since we left it there, but it should be ready to fly.”

“They’re built to last, should be fine,” said Kira.

“I’m sorry, what will be fine?” asked Nedu.

“Your ship,” said Kira. “You can’t take the one you came in on, it’s too risky. The Cardassians will have the municipal spaceport covered by now. So we’ll sneak you out the back with a ship we’ve got stashed in the industrial shipping zone.”

“Oh, wonderful,” said Obi-Wan. The state of the technology he’d so far seen the resistance utilize did not inspire confidence in the safety or durability of any transportation they could provide him, and he was not looking forward to spending the trip back to Republic space in whatever patched-up, rickety old puddle jumper the good people of the Bajoran underground had stashed away. 

Lotre seemed to sense his displeasure and frowned. “Let’s get a move on,” she said. “With what you’re carrying, the sooner we get you off planet the better.”

They nodded to Orim and the other young man and made their way back out to the street. The temperature had dropped precipitously when they were inside, and Obi-Wan could see his breath fogging in the night air.

“I don’t suppose,” he said as they made their way along the twisting alleys of Dahka’s backstreets, “That there is any way I could take my own ship? Perhaps if I waited until tomorrow?”

Lotre turned around to shush him. A few more steps and she said, “No, they’ll have the spaceport under surveillance for at least a week. And with what you’re carrying it’s too risky. Anyway, you need to get the data back to the Republic faster than that.”

“Yes, well, that is something of my concern.

She looked over her shoulder back at him and raised an eyebrow. “I’ll be sure to let our engineers know what the Republic thinks of their work without having even laid eyes on one of our ships.” 

Obi-Wan chuckled at that. “Fair enough. I will reserve judgement as to the fine craftsmanship of Bajoran engineers until after I have inspected their handiwork.”

They slipped silently through the streets, no other sentients, Bajoran or Cardassian, to intercept them. The nightly curfew had long since past, closing all businesses and confining all local residents indoors. 

Cardassians, unhampered by the curfew, were still out and active but, though Obi-Wan could occasionally hear the sound of a passing speeder a few streets over or see the occasional bright glow of floodlights as they passed by the many industrial and administrative complexes dotted throughout the cityscape, they themselves were hidden too far in the knotted mass of unlit back alleys to be noticed by the authorities.

The commercial spaceport, a few miles outside of central Dahka, was surrounded by a twelve-foot wire fence lazily dotted with guard towers bearing searchlights. Foot patrols passed by at random intervals.

“And this is less risky than the municipal spaceport?” Obi-Wan asked, gesturing at the armed Cardassians and razor wire.

Lotre shrugged. “Look at them, practically falling asleep. They aren’t expecting anything. The ones in the city, the ones they have staking out the area around your ship? They’re just waiting for someone to try something. Out here? In the middle of the their heavily secured shipping operation? No one would ever try to break in here.”

Obi-Wan had to admit there was a sort of insane logic to that. It almost sounded like the sort of argument Anakin might make in support of one of his plans. The comparison didn’t necessarily recommend it, though. Anakin’s plans usually ended in running and explosions.

Kira led the way around the edge of the spaceport until they reached the gap in the security perimeter. Moving quickly to avoid the searchlights, they climbed over the fence—Nedu much more gracefully than her, Kira noted as she stumbled, landing with a thump on the ground on the far side of the wire—and ran across the open field to shelter behind one of the outlying buildings.

Once inside the auxiliary storage hangar, they made their way to one of the more out of the way berths in the back. As they walked, Obi-Wan took note of the quality and the condition of the ships in the dim light. Most were large, boxy ore freighters or ancient, lumbering transports. None looked space-worthy, let alone like they could get him all the way back to Republic space.

Turning the corner behind yet another cargo transport, Lotre finally stopped. Obi-Wan studied the ship she was now plugging access codes into. It was far smaller than the other ships in the hangar, hardly a shuttle. It looked as rickety as the rest of them, though.

Kira turned from where she was now sitting in the copilot’s seat of the shuttlecraft to look over at where Nedu was standing out in the dim light of the hangar, staring at the ship.

“What are you looking at? Get in.”

He complied, folding himself into the pilot’s seat with some difficulty, and not without banging his head on the hatchway on his way in.

“Are all your pilots so short?” he asked  
.  
“No, just the engineers,” said Kira with a smile as she triggered the shuttled startup sequence and began a diagnostic, “They build them this size without thinking.”

“Hmmm,” said Nedu frowning as he tried to fit his legs into an area clearly designed for someone with much shorter ones. 

As he finally settled, Kira turned to him. “Have you ever flown something like this before?”

“Something similar, yes, although not quite this . . . old.”

Kira snorted. “Hey, she may not be pretty but they build these things solid. She’ll fly and she’ll get you where you need to go. However,” she said, reaching behind her seat to grab something, “If something goes wrong you have this,” she handed him a multi-spanner, “And this.” She handed him a fire extinguisher.

Obi-Wan blinked and stared down at the tools in his hands. “Well, then. I’m just brimming with confidence.”

She snorted. “You’ll be fine. As long as no one starts shooting at you.”

“And what are the odds of that?”

“Pretty good. Since,” she forward into one of the shuttles storage compartments to pull out a piece of flimsy wrapped around a data card, “You have these.” She held up the flimsi. “This has everything you need to know about your new cover ID,” she handed it to him and held up the data card, “And this has all the requisite clearance codes to get you off the planet.” She handed the card over to him as well.

Obi-Wan skimmed over thee information on the flimsy—not an in-depth cover, but solid enough for what he needed it for. “You seem well prepared,” he commented, “Do you do this sort of thing often?”

“What, smuggle people off Bajor? Not really.” She shrugged. “We know how, of course, and we do do it on occasion, but for the most part we just don’t have the resources to get people out.” 

Kira pressed her lips together, clenching her teeth as she recalled the people, the friends, the colleagues, the strangers she barely knew, who had died when they got in too much trouble, drew too much heat, and the resistance couldn’t get them off world to a safer location due to the lack of resources. They tried, of course, to hide them, to smuggle them around to safe houses and hide them away in the hill caves, but the arms of the Cardassian military were long and they were brutal. Few who drew their full attention and stayed within their reach lasted for very long. 

Obi-Wan glanced over at his companion, her silence and the sudden spike of pain in the force permeating the small, enclosed space of the ship. “Oh, I see,” he finally said, “I’m sorry.”

She shrugged, running a hand through her hair and tucking a few loose strands back into her braid. “Is the Republic going to come to Bajor?”

Obi-Wan almost laughed at the directness of the question but figured it would likely be misconstrued as an insult. Instead, he simply returned her forthright directness with his own. “It is unlikely. We are engaged on far too many fronts as it is, given the resources available, and the Senate is unlikely to authorize any funding to expand operations any time soon.” He paused for a moment, considering. “Do you want the Republic to come to Bajor?”

Lotre gave a small start, followed by a smile at that as if she hadn’t expected the question. “I want the Cardassians off of Bajor,” she said, “We want the Cardassians off of Bajor. But we don’t want them gone just to see someone else take their place. Cardassians, Republic, Separatists, it doesn't matter to us. An occupation is an occupation.”

“You want help, but not at the expense of future sovereignty.” 

She arched an eyebrow at him. “Would anyone make that trade off?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“Yes, I suppose I would.” Kira took a deep breath. “But what will happen, if the Cardassians do make a deal with the Separatists?”

“Well,” he hedged, “I couldn’t really say.”

She scowled at him. So far at least he had had the decency not to outright lie to her (as far as she could tell) and she appreciated that. But she didn’t like evasion either. Not that it was unexpected. Kira had been in the resistance too long to not know how the game was played.

But the Republic had taken seriously the word of a small-time underground resistance cell on an insignificant colony world in a minor Outer Rim system. And even all the way out on Bajor it was know that the war was not going well for the Republic. So even though Kira didn’t know who the man sitting next to her was, other than a false name and his affiliation with the Republic, she knew he had to be someone of some significance.

If Obi-Wan had caught that thought he would have laughed. If only she knew how important the Republic thought this mission, sending a High General on an intelligence collecting run.

As Lotre pressed the issue Obi-Wan shrugged. “If the Cardassians do align themselves with the Separatists the Senate will have no choice but to declare them and all their holdings, including the Bajoran system, as enemies of the Republic. Beyond that, I really cannot say. Any other actions would depend on what the Cardassians do.”

Kira smiled grimly, her eyes hard and dark and her mouth set in a thin line against the pallor of her face in the dim light of the hangar. “Well, that’s that then. We should have expected it. After all, no one has ever cared to think much about us out here.” 

She turned back to the console, the diagnostic almost finished. All indicators lit up green save one. “Everything looks good. You’re all set to go, once the morning shift arrives.”

“Ah, what about that one?” he asked, pointing to the one indicator that showed a red light.

“Oh, that’s just the auxiliary stabilizers, you don’t need them.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Are you sure?”

“They’re auxiliaries. Frankly, you’re lucky as much is working as is.”

“Dammit.” Kira hastily entered the power down sequence as the doors on the far side of the hangar opened, and the long dark shadow of two guards stretched along the floor, followed by their owners.

Obi-Wan and Kira leaned back in their seats, still and silent in the shadows as the guards wandered past. Kira could hear the muffled sounds of their chatter as they wandered past.

She let out a long breath as the sound of the hangar door closing echoed through the cavernous building. “Right,” she said, “Sometimes they do foot patrols inside the hangar, so be careful of that.”

Nedu chuckled softly. “Anything else I need to know?”

“You have your cover, flight path, and clearance codes, no, I think you’re good,” she said, “Just stay here and keep your head down until the first shift arrives. Then you can leave with them.” She checked her chrono before slipping it back into her pocket. “Should only be another two or three hours.”

“Well, nothing to it, then.”

“Nothing to it.” She got up, slipping silently out of the shuttle. Outside, just before she closed the hatch, she turned back. “May the Prophets protect and guide you on your journey.”

Obi-Wan looked at the young woman standing in the hatchway. She looked so terribly old in that moment, the faint light from the floodlights outside that filtered in through the windows glinting off her earring and casting the angles of her face into sharp relief. He revised his initial assessment, perhaps, biologically, she was closer in age to Anakin than to Ahsoka, but still, either way this war, this tiny, insignificant by galactic standards, inconsequential little war had aged her immeasurably.

The Republic would be of no help to these people. He knew it, knew it in his heart, could feel the truth of it in the Force. What was coming would doubtlessly make things worse for the people here, not better. He wished in that moment that there was something he could say, something he could do, something that would matter.

But in the end all he said was “May the Force be with you.” 

She smiled and closed the hatch and Obi-Wan watched her slip away between the hulks of the parked transports before he settled in to wait for morning to come.


End file.
